


Nope (if you're not happy, pick another Nerevarine sweetheart)

by elyhandra



Series: Nope, Never Again (Until Next Time) [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Gen, Novelization, Rated M for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-01-30 09:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12651054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyhandra/pseuds/elyhandra
Summary: Emperors, Gods and a certain dead General have been trying to shape her path, some with more success than others. Or at least, with some degree of success. Nerevar thinks it's success.Azura laughs, and the Nerevarine yells "Go fuck yourselves!"OrA novelization of the Elder Scrolls series, starting at Morrowind, with an impossibly rude and sassy Nerevarine.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Little_buttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_buttercup/gifts).



> So, I finally posted something, after all these years. Kudos to Little_buttercup for encouraging me, and her Nereval and Nerevar series. Any grammatical mistakes result from the fact that English is my second language, and I don't have a beta. If you spot something, please let me know!
> 
> Also, I don't own anything! Bethesda owns the Elder Scrolls games, not me.

3E426

Uriel Septim VII sits at his desk and lets out a deep sight. Scanning the reports sitting in front of him one more time, he rubs his temples, trying to ease the migraine that has been forming for the last couple of hours.

“ _Soon_ ”, he thinks. He had been given visions of what was to come, had seen first hand during his imprisonment in Oblivion the horror that was to be unleashed on Tamriel. The empire would shake, the Sun and his Companion the ones that would bring about its end. All would unite to face Dagon. All _must_ unite to defeat Dagon. And now this was threatening it.

Morrowind was in chaos. A plague had spread, supposedly from the pits of Red Mountain, infecting everything and everyone caught in the ash storms. The Blight, they called it, sacred disease. Corprus.

The reports written by his Blades in the province spoke of general fear, of people acting in strange ways, speaking of a supposed lord of a sixth house, of Dagoth Ur. The Sharmat. The Devil under Red Mountain.

Uriel knew about the prophecy. Having been the ruler of an empire where Aedra and Daedra meddled frequently, having been the victim of a power-hungry sorcerer and rescued by a hero, having spent ten years in Oblivion, and those following dreaming and dreading, he had learned the value and comfort prophecies brought. He had studied many recorded prophecies, asked the Priests of the Ancestor Moth to scry the Elder Scrolls for words that would help them prepare when the time came.

He had found no words relative to an Oblivion invasion, but he knew of the Nerevarine prophecies. A general reborn, born on a certain day to uncertain parents. Someone who would unite the Dunmer, who would bring about the end of the Tribunal Temple, Nerevar Incarnate. Or so they said.

Uriel hopes there is substance behind those prophecies, for he is about to test them. What better way to prepare Morrowind than placing a General at its head? What better way to unite the Dunmer against the greater threat? And if this hero had the blessing of the Emperor himself, then perhaps they would lend a hand during the Crisis to follow.

With a plan formed, Uriel feels the migraine start to dissipate. A plan of action is always important, even if plans have a strange tendency to change when gods are involved. Now, the only thing left is the catalyst, the hero. Who should he send to Morrowind?

Uriel feels his heart tightening. The last time he had handpicked a hero, he had lost a friend. The Miracle of Peace, they had called it, or The Warp of the West. The hands of the gods, fixing one of the tensest situations the Empire had seen. “ _It was no miracle_ ”, Uriel thinks bitterly, “ _for a miracle would have allowed Arkan to return to us_ ”.

He remembers Arkan. Or rather, he remembers moments with him. Age had stripped him of the memories of his friend’s looks, the color of his eyes, how he sounded when he was angry and when he laughed. A shade of a memory was all he had left.

He remembers Talin, who had been so full of life, and his soulless eyes when news of Arkan’s disappearance reached them. The Eternal Champion had left to High Rock to search for their friend, and had never returned. Uriel couldn’t blame Talin for not returning. He had been the one to send Arkan after a ghost. He should have known, that heroes aren’t chosen by kings nor emperors.

No, he would not choose amongst his agents again. Heroes were made of something else, of something greater. His thoughts go back to Tamlin, a mere soldier, imprisoned, and an idea strikes him.

“Ocato”, he calls. He looks at the Blade stationed at his door, and orders him to call for Ocato. The Chancellor is quick to answer the summons, and stands in front of his desk.

“Your Highness“, he starts, but Uriel waves at him, cutting his greeting.

“Please, I need a list of the prisoners who are incarcerated in the Imperial Prison”, he tells him.

Ocato raises his eyebrows at his request. He is the only person allowed to question the Emperor, and even so, only when in private, but they have been friends for such a long time, that Uriel feels obligated to explain himself.

“We need a hero. We need an unsuspecting hero, someone who could fulfill the role of the Nerevarine, and help establish Imperial control on Morrowind. We need someone who will act on our behalf, and be grateful for our help.”

Ocato looks uncertain, and says “Surely we could find someone with such… _specifications_ who is already in our ranks. A criminal would hardly be thankful to us for a mere release.”

“Talin was once a prisoner as well.”, says Uriel.

“Talin was falsely accused and imprisoned by the traitor Jagar Tharn. He was a young, faithful Blade, already inducted into your service”, counters Ocato.

Uriel sights, and rubs the bridge of his nose. Ocato was highly logical, a great strategist. Trying to reason with him and making him change his mind was like telling the sun to stop rising in the East and setting in the West. Or perhaps even more difficult than that. He levels a glare at his Chancellor, and says:

“Then bring me a list of everyone falsely imprisoned.”

Ocato has the nerve to look offended, and Uriel smirks, unhappily. It happens, he knows, no matter how much the Chancellor denies it or how much the captains under his command swear it doesn’t happen. He knows there is always someone wrongly accused, some money exchanging hands, and guards who didn’t have the patience to conduct and actual investigation and ended up blaming the wrong person. Corruption happens, pride is a thing, and denying it is naive. It happens.

After some offended stuttering, Ocato straitens his back and says, “I will procure a list of prisoners, Your Grace”, then leaves to sulk and do as his Emperor commands.

Uriel gets up from the desk chair, and moves to stand by the window. From his vantage point, high in Imperial Palace, he can see Green Emperor Way, and the shops of the Market District. Beyond it, stands the stern Imperial Prison, from which Tamlin had escaped, and where, he hoped, now stood his new (falsely imprisoned) hero.


	2. Judging a Candidate

3E427

 

Nerevar stood, unseen, by the shores of Seyda Neen, eyes fixed on the horizon. There was another one coming.

 

For ages, he had wandered between Moonshadow and Resdaynia, between resting and judging, passing the years of his death waiting. For who, exactly, he didn’t know. Himself, apparently.

 

Throughout the millennia, he had accompanied and judged more than a hundred possible Incarnates, as was his obligation, and seen the good ones die, and the unworthy ones fail at the cave. Not once had someone succeeded in stepping into the cave and coming out again. For some Daedra cursed reason, only the bad ones made it that far, and he never joined with them at the cave. The good ones…

 

He remembers some of the would-be ones, those he wishes had made it to the cave: a Nord woman, good with an axe, and possessing a kind soul, a love for loud songs and a propensity to drink too much – she had died drunk, a Cammona Tong thug’s knife between her ribs after some exchanged drunken insults; he remembers a Breton boy, quick with spells and quicker with his fingers, a smirk etched perpetually on his lips, and a love for adventure – he remembers him laying on the ground, caught in an ash storm, dying of Corprus, knowing his fate, and ending it himself with a dagger; he remembers an Argonian, good with a blade, sinking in the shadows, freeing every slave he encountered – he had died by the hands of the guards of House Dres, after they caught him; he remembers a Redguard man, a soldier, good with whatever weapon he got his hands on, and a will to do Good – he had made it to an ashlander tribe, had looked for information in Vivec City, and been ambushed and killed by Ordinators.

 

Nerevar had screamed in rage when the Redguard had died, had yelled and cursed those Ordinators, and Vivec, and the rest of the so-called Tribunal – he had judged them all and found them guilty of that death, and many to follow.

 

He had stopped caring for a while, had travelled to Moonshadow, Azura’s Realm of Oblivion, and stayed there until Azura had kicked him out, saying he was disturbing her roses and her Winged Twilights with his angry muttering, and reminding him of his duties to his people.

 

So here he stood, waiting. Lately, many ships had dropped off prisoners here, from the Imperial prison, much to Nerevar’s distaste. It was bad enough that the land he had fought for was now under someone else’s control; Morrowind was NOT a criminal colony!

 

Nerevar bared his teeth at a soldier posted on the dock. The soldier shivered, muttered “bloody island”, turned and left the dock. Nerevar returned his sight to the the approaching boat and sighted. Many of those prisoners had been candidates, even if they hadn’t last more than a few weeks each (days, in some cases). Either the Imperials were trying to force the prophecy, or Azura was having a laugh at his expense. He didn’t know which was worse.

 

The ship stopped by the dock, and dropped the anchor. Without waiting for the ramp to drop, Nerevar jumped into the deck, and searched for the prisoners. He knew from experience these things took time, and he wanted to know the candidate.

 

Below deck was a locked room. Feeling the familiar tug of a possible connection, Nerevar crossed the door; that feeling was always weird, as he felt himself cross the wood. He avoided doing it, but curiosity was getting the better of him.

 

On the other side of the door were two Dunmers, a male and a female. He was tall and bald, had a scar crossing from his eyebrow to his cheek – that had cost him an eye – and and seemed very thin. She was laying on the floor, shivering.

 

 Nerevar wondered if she was sick, and how long she would last if that was the case.

 

“Wake up, we’re here.”, said the male mer “Why are you shaking? Are you ok? Wake up.”

 

Nerevar kneeled beside the young mer, and touched her forehead. Immediately, visions of fire and ash filled his vision, Red Mountain, a _voice_ -

 

She gasped and opened her eyes, looking through him.

 

“Stand up. There you go.”

 

She took the Dunmer’s hand and got up, standing on uncertain legs, regaining her balance.

 

“Were you dreaming?” He asked.

 

“You know what, Jiub? I have no clue” she said. She looked around, as if looking for something.

 

“I heard them say we reached Morrowind, I’m sure they’ll let us go” Jiub said. Nerevar waited, but he didn’t say her name. She nodded at him, and kept looking. “Are you alright?”

 

“Could’ve sworn I saw something…” she muttered. Nerevar smiled. This one was more perceptive than most, which was a good thing – they tended to be the best, those he accepted. They also tended to be the ones who dropped dead.

 

“Quiet. Here comes the guard. Better do as they say” Jiub said, and backed from the door.

 

She raised an eyebrow at him “What do you think they’ll do, throw us overboard now? After all the trouble to get us here?”

 

Nerevar fighted back a chuckle. “ _Sassy kid_.”

 

“You, follow me”, said the guard, and started moving without checking to see if she was following. She looked back at Jiub and whispered “I’ll wait for you, pal” and then followed the guard. Nerevar followed them, watching her closely. It was always fun watching their faces

 

When she finally got to the open air, the mer looked around, stunned. The guard was barking at her to hurry up, but she stood there for a minute, just looking around, awed. Nerevar liked her immediately.

 

When she finally descended the ramp, the guard Nerevar had previously shooed away had returned, and was leading her into the Census and Excise Office. Nerevar followed, irked that he still didn’t know her name.

 

Inside the office was the same Breton that greeted everyone who arrived on Morrowind.

 

“Ahh yes, we've been expecting you. I’m Socucius Ergalla. We are here to register you. You'll have to be recorded before you're officially released, you see? Now, what is your name?"

 

She looked at the Breton for two seconds before responding, her lips suppressing a comment. Nerevar wanted to shake her, or take possession of her, to know what she was thinking.

 

“My name is Urania.” She answered. " _At last_ ", thought Nerevar.

 

“Last name?”, pressed the Breton.

 

“Don’t have one” she replied, brusquely.

 

“Er, hmm, well, and where were you born?” He asked hesitantly.

 

“Cyrodill” she said, and then quietly added “probably.”

 

The Breton looked lost at her, and she looked like she was at the limit of her patience. Nerevar wished he could smack her in the head – the quicker she got this done, the faster they’d go exploring and becoming the Nerevarine, so _if she could just give straight answers for five seconds_ -

 

“And would you happen to know which sign you were born under?...”

 

“The Lady” she said, eyebrows raised. Nerevar smiled. " _Me too, kid!"_

 

“I see” said the Breton, registering the answer, “And what is your profession?”

 

“I am an adventurer – I dive into caves and ruins looking for stuff and trouble. Found a bit more than trouble last time, though – got in a fight with another adventurer, an Orc you see, he had permission from his king in Orsinium and such, and he didn’t appreciate the fact that I had gotten to the Ayleid ruin before him.” she said, suddendly very chatty. “Good fight, and he lost, but his pride was hurt, and he told the guards, as if that anything to do with’em and-“

 

Nerevar did a double take. Was that the same kid that had been very quiet and brusque just seconds ago?

 

“That’s quite enough, thank you.”, said the Breton, eager to make her stop. “If you could just check these papers, and take them to Captain Gravius. He will give you your release fee.” And with this, he handed her the papers and all but pushed her out the door. Nerevar followed her, rubbing his hands on his face, deciding Azura was definitely mocking him right now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing - this thing of publishing a fic is stressful, but I like it.


	3. Planning a Heist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The objective is posting a chapter per week, every Monday afternoon. Except if I'm feeling in high spirits - in that case, I'll update more often :)

 

Urania entered the corridor, smirking, yet shaken. “ _Bastards”_.

 

A Command spell. It had to be _. No one_ knew her name. Not the guards who had arrested her, not the jailors in the Imperial City, not the Gray Fox, nor the idiots whose mansion she had robbed. She always made sure to answer by a different one, and never her favorite given name – Urania.

Gods and Daedra alike, who were these guys kidding?! They had no idea who they were receiving from the Imperial Prison! No papers ready, no caution, no nothing! If there hadn’t been _something_ commanding her to declare her name, she would’ve answered something else – something inconspicuous yet funny, something like… Mara, or Kyne. Debasing the Aedra’s names was always a _such a joy, they deserved it._

 

 But no matter. It wasn’t like they knew of her past, and she was fine with it. Besides, she had gathered herself pretty quickly, and scared of the Breton with enough words to drown his little head. Speaking of…

 

Urania scanned the papers the man had given her and, yep, incomplete. “ _Poor fetcher probably expects me to bow before the Captain and answer to him_.”, she thought. “ _Let’s see, this is an office, there’s gotta be a quill lying around, and his handwriting is neat and easy to copy_.”

 

With a plan formed, Urania ducked her head along the corridor, and slipped into a room, furnished with a shelf and a table. She picked a quill and an inkpot from the shelf, placed them on the table, and started to work.

 

Birthplace: was Cyrodill enough? Probably not, but she didn’t feel like writing that many truths into the document, so instead of Chorrol she wrote Kvatch – close enough, and a bigger city, where fact checking would be harder.

 

Date of birth: unknown, except sometime in Heartfire – since her birthsign was The Lady, charge of the Warrior – in the year of 3E387. She would be 40 this blasted year, a young mer by Dunmer standards.

 

Her eyes scanned the next questions. She deliberately skipped the “family” question, since it was none of their business, and filled the rest of the document without much information, snickering at questions like “profession” and “skills”. She could just picture it:

 

“Greetings! I’m a high-ranked burglar of Cyrodill’s Thieves Guild! I specialize in sneaking into your houses while you sleep, robbing everything and smiling at the guards with my pockets full of hot merch! Also sass, if you haven’t noticed yet!”

 

What were they expecting with this line of questioning? The truth?!

 

She simply answered “Adventurer”, since it wasn’t false, and claimed a proficiency in sword-playing and in the magic school of Destruction – which was The Standard Every-Dunmer-Who-Ever-Lived-Claims-This Answer.  

 

Satisfied with her work, she blew a soft breath over the ink, urging it to dry, and scanned her surroundings. From the corridor, she could hear Ergalia’s high pitched voice, and Jiub’s raspy answers. The floor above was quiet, as was the rest of the building. She decided to explore a bit, since she had promised to wait for Jiub, and the place was severely under protected. Not that she planned on robbing the place – not right now, at least. For all that she had joked with Jiub on the boat, there was something they could do to them: they could send them to Black Marsh, like they did for the worst kind of criminals.

 

Still, once they were set to leave the area, there wouldn’t be enough guards to keep her out of that office at night – that plaque mounted on the shelf at the first room must be worth a few hundreds of drakes, _no way_ was that staying in that shabby looking office, and – _wait, was that a lockpick_? Sitting invitingly next to a dagger and some good-looking food?

 

She decided the risk was worth it, and slipped the lockpick in her boot, next to the dagger, stuffed some bread on her mouth, and- “ _There it is, that feeling again”._ She could _feel_ someone _tsk-ing_ at her back, but when she looked back, there was no one there. There was no one on the other side of the door either, so she used the lockpick to open a tiny chest and got herself some gold. Then, before anyone decided to check up on her, she left the Office. She could wait for Jiub by the Captain’s quarters – or wherever the man was at.

 

Outside the office stood a barrel, so she checked that too (out of spite) and – “ _Aedra and Daedra, they are asking for it, really”_ – there was a ring in it, and a magical one at that. She hid it in her boot and proceeded like it was none of her business.

 

Captain Gravius stood by his desk, frowning at a letter. He gave her a cursory nod, and greeted her absently. She handed the papers, hoping he wouldn’t be picky about the answers in them. But, much to her surprise, he barely bothered to read through them, and simply set them on a box, before handing her a parcel and a letter, as well a purse with some gold; if it weren’t so convenient, she would’ve felt insulted.

 

 “The letter is for you to read, but the package is to be delivered to Caius Cosades, in Balmora. Understand?” said the captain.

 

“So, I’m to be a courier, is that it?”, she retorted, one eyebrow raised for effect (if asked, she would deny it, but she _had_ spent hours training it in front of a mirror).

 

“Either that, or go back to the Imperial Prison” said Gravius. “Choice is yours. And don’t open the package, it’s not for you, yes?”

 

 Urania made a evasive noise, and simply nodded to him. She turned on the spot and left. People who talked back without needing a second to think of an answer were to be respected. Clearly, the man had risen in ranks by skill, and not connections.

 

When she finally stepped foot outside, the weather was starting to get foggy. Still, she felt the same pang of oddness she felt on the boat, as if only now was her head registering that this wasn’t Cyrodill, this wasn’t her land.

 

“Have you seen my engraved ring of healing?”

 

“What”, Urania looked around, saw the top of a head, and looked down. “What?...”

 

 A Bosmer stood in front of her, looking quite peeved at her absentmindedness. “My engraved ring of healing! The Imperials took it, it’s a family heirloom, and they had no right, and since you just left the Census and Excise Office, I was hoping you had come by my ring and-“

 

Urania held up her hands, stopping him in his tracks. She felt like laughing; he had just used the same technique she had with Ergalia to distract her, or irritate her into talking. And did he say “come by my ring”? An idea formed in her mind, and she placed a hand on his (tiny) shoulder.

 

“Your engraved ring of healing, which would be in the possession of the Imperials?” she asked softly.

 

“Yes! And-“

 

“A ring of blue-ish color?” she continued.

 

“You have it! You have-“

 

“Nope.” She said, dropping her hand from his shoulder.

 

The Bosmer stood there looking affronted; before he could regain his senses, she added: “But I could get it for you – I know where it is!”

 

“You do? I mean, you can?! Oh please, it’s a family heirloom, if you could-“

 

“I’m not finished.” She neared her face to the Bosmer’s, and asked quietly “What if I come by other things, do you think anyone would want them?”

 

“Oh, then Arrille would be happy to distribute them to those who… lost them.”

 

Urania smiled brightly at him. “Well then, I’ll see you at… let’s see… does that tavern have a room to spare?”

 

It did. And apparently, Arrille was a good friend of Fargoth’s, and the owner of the local tradehouse, which was perfect. By the time Jiub had left the Census Office, Urania was already planning the entire operation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD MISTAKES IN IT - I'M SORRY. They are corrected now  
> It's not "Tamlin", it's Talin. And the years - I was one century off, the Shame  
> Again, sorry


	4. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY FOR THE TIME I TOOK TO UPDATE  
> EXAMS AND MINI TESTS AND REPORTS AND DEADLINES ALL GOT IN THE WAY  
> PLEASE FORGIVE MEEEEHH

 

There weren’t many things that could scare Jiub. As a Dunmer of Morrowind, he had grown in one of the most savage territories of Tamriel, had learnt to survive the fauna of Vvardenfell, and adapt to the land’s harsh conditions. He had enough skills to beat anyone on the street, and even his unfortunate addiction to skooma hadn’t deprived him of his reflexes. The old wound on his eye was no longer an issue, either; he could shoot an arrow with plenty accuracy. All in all, he would like to believe he was a pretty tough mer.

 

That conviction disappeared the moment he left the Census Office and saw his traveling companion grinning madly at him, with a funny looking Bosmer trembling beside her.

 

“Jiub! Glad you’re here! How was Ergalia?”

 

The older mer had to suppress a sigh. “He was a bit jumpy. How badly did you scare him? They were pretty quick to call me off the boat, and I’m under the impression my registration took longer than yours.”

 

“Well… Let’s just say they were eager to see me out the door and make my way to Balmora. You got orders as well?”

 

Jiub lifted an eyebrow at that, confused. “Orders?”

 

At that, she stopped grinning, and just looked confused. “You mean to tell me I was the only one given a task? What, they just gave you a fee and walked you out the door?”

 

“They gave you a fee?...” Jiub asked, feeling a bit jealous. He hadn’t been given anything besides a warning to not cause trouble. Not that he resented the young mer; she was the reason he had been convicted with theft, and not murder.

She was looking at him with her eyebrows creased and her lips were pressed. After just a few moments, she muttered “Right. _Right_. Alright, okay. Hey Fargoth, I’ll see what I can do about your ring, okay?” She asked, smirking. The Bosmer readily agreed, giving her indications to all the buildings in Seyda Neen, and how to reach his house. Fargoth left then, looking quite pleased, and leaving Jiub very confused, and the cat burglar looking expectantly at him.

 

“What was that about?”, Jiub asked, unsure if he wanted an answer.

 

“He is looking for his ring, poor fellow, apparently the Imperials took it away as a joke,” she said, dragging her words, “ I promised I would look for it.”

 

“Trouble,” Jiub countered, “what you are looking for is _trouble_.”

 

“Maybe,” she conceded, “but it’s not like they don’t deserve it. Come on, you wanna walk around the village ‘til dinner time?” Cat asked him.

 

“Alright” he said, after a brief pause. He had thought that, once they reached Morrowind, she wouldn’t want anything to do with him, and they would part ways. Sure, she had risked her neck for him, and busted his detention, making it look like they were robbing a house, rather than his foiled attempt at murdering an already dead man, but still.

 

The whole situation was still very surreal for him, although one thing was certain: the last weeks in prison and on the road had cleared his body for the first time in years, and he had no desire to go back to his skooma addiction. This would be a new beginning… even if he had no idea what he would do now with his life.

 

They made for a path that followed the margins of the swamp, and up near where the silt strider was stationed, walking in a companionable silence. As soon as they were out of earshot, she looked at him and asked,

 

“So, how weird were my questions? I mean, _really_ , they gave you nothing?”

 

“Not a single drake, Cat. Honestly, I’m not surprised with it. I do think it’s strange that they asked something of you. You said you had orders?...” He looked at her and saw her smiling.

 

“Okay, first, since they already forced it out of me, my name is Urania, not Cat, even if I am a cat burglar. Second-“

 

“They forced it out of you?!” He asked, completely shocked.

 

“Command spell, I’m guessing,” she said, frowning, “Otherwise I would’ve never have answered the truth. You didn’t feel it?”

 

“I just went with the truth. I’m a local, there’s not really a point to lie in my case.” He shrugged. “But they Commanded you? Fucking s’wits.”

 

“ _And,_ they gave you _nothing_. You know, our first heist together didn’t really go according to plan, what do you say, should we give it another shot tonight? We have enough reasons to try it!” She proposed, a wicked smile on her lips.

 

Jiub tried to suppress a laugh at her expression. “Two things, Cat. First, those reasons are for us, and if you tell that to the guard they’ll just kick you in prison again. Which leads me to the most important thing: should you really be planning a theft fresh out of prison? You don’t think they’ll suspect us?”

 

She lifted her chin up, a smug smile spreading through her face. “Amateur. Let me tell you something, not a single person in the Imperial City is capable of the shitty stunts I pull. So we got caught, but that was the point! I was trying to make you look like a thief, and not like you were that guy’s murderer!,” she pressed. “Besides, if the Imperials weren’t so desperate to empty the cells in the Prison, we would’ve been busted out by the Guild. Brothers help each other out, and no one keeps the Guild’s accounts as filled as I do – yet again, because nobody does the shit I do. You want my record?” She held up her hand, raised one finger, and began (re)counting her heists.

 

“I stole the ring from the Countess of Leyawinn, Alessia Caro, as a bet with a fellow thief,” she held up a second finger, “I stole the entire collection of artifacts from a dead collector in the Imperial City in one night – sure, he was dead, but the house was guarded day and night and he tried to kill me in a ruin, and after I got myself out, I cleared his entire place, and dumped everything in a section of the sewers – fitting end, fucking Ayleid wannabe…”

 

“Alright, alright, I get it, you know what you’re doing, stop it, someone might overhear us,” he cut, waving his hands in the air. “I still don’t see why you want me to go along.”

 

“Because I need someone on the lookout, because you’ll get a share, because it will be _fun!”_ She answered enthusiastically.

 

Jiub sighted. Those were _mostly_ good reasons, although he was still unsure. He still wanted his release to mean a different path for him, a life on the right side of the law, and this didn’t look like a promising beginning, even he did feel indebted to her.

 

Sensing his discomfort, Cat – _Urania_ , he corrected himself – stopped walking and offered instead to share her release fee with him, and proposed they returned to the little village, and get a room to spend the night. Jiub was a bit uncomfortable with the idea of sharing a room with her, but she countered by saying they had been sharing a cell for weeks, and should be way past the point of being embarrassed of sleeping next to each other, which he admitted was the truth. So, they made it to the edge of Seyda Neen, when the silt strider howled.

 

Urania jumped, looking for the source of the sound, and Jiub chuckled. Sure, she might be a troublemaker, and life might be uncertain, but at least he’d get a laugh out of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - it's back to our favorite dead general


	5. Whispers From the Dead (General)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every kudos is treasured like gold, every comment feeds my imagination, any kind of feedback is amazing!

 

Night had fallen and the village was quiet when Urania left the tradehouse, with Nerevar following grudgingly behind. He agreed with her friend, Jiub – she should _not_ be looking for trouble, here and now. They were still in Seyda Neen, fresh out of prison, and she was _already eager to break the law_! It was giving Nerevar a headache, _and he wasn’t even alive to feel it!_

 

Quietly, they descended the steps of the tradehouse, and left the building. She hopped out of the platform through the back, and stood by a tree stump. Nerevar took one look at it, and immediately concentrated on her.

 

_“Look inside, look inside, come on, you felt me before, please look inside-“_

She paused, frowning. A few seconds later, she peeked at the stump, and smiled, reaching for the drakes and silver hidden inside. The general smirked and counted it a win.

 

Nerevar had heard her suspicions when she had questioned Jiub, and was worried about their connection; he had to make sure she trusted this feeling, so he could better guide her, but it was going to be a fine line to thread. If she kept believing she was being Commanded, she would fight him; if he didn’t do enough, she might not listen to him on a critical situation, and get injured or worse, not to mention it might damage their relationship when she reached the Cave of the Incarnates.

 

Because she _would_ reach it. With that much strength in their connection, and his immediate liking to her, he refused to believe this wouldn’t be it. Sure, she might be a thief, but from her stories, she didn’t seem like the type who stole those in need, and she had been kind enough to help Jiub, before and after they had reached Vvardenfell. Not everyone would do that, and that gave Nerevar hope.

 

They moved through the edge of the village until the water’s edge, and then she waited by the side of a building, waiting for a patrol. She had bought a set of black clothing from the local merchant, and an equally black leather pack. Combined with her jet black hair, she looked vaguely like a shadow.

 

When the patrol disappeared, she slipped her lockpick in the keyhole, and opened it in a few seconds. She moved through the entire building faster than Nerevar though she would, pocketing little bits of silver, kwama eggs and candles, and all sorts of little inconspicuous things the merchant would have no problem in fencing, even if the Imperials came sniffing around.

 

When she reached the main room, where Nerevar had learned her name, she paused, grinning madly. Standing in the shelf, was the plaque she had promised would not remain in the Office, and the main source of both Jiub’s and Nerevar’s headaches. She reached for the plaque, and Nerevar tried one last time to stop her.

 

_“Are you sure?”_

Her hand stopped mere inches from a handle, and she frowned, looking around and baring her teeth.

 

_“Please, are you sure? They’ll suspect you. You can take it, but can you go far with it? Are you sure?”_

“Damned… _voice!_ ,” she hissed, “Yes, I’m sure! There won’t be another boat coming in days, the papers are all with the captain, and this room has dust, hence it’s not used frequently, and _that’s the whole point of it! They won’t notice the theft for days!_ I’ll sell it in Balmora, are you happy?! Now shut up!”

 

Nerevar quieted. If she was right, they might be able to get away with it.

 

_“Sorry. Just looking out for you.”_

She frowned again, sighted through her nose, and plucked the plaque from the shelf, holding it with her left arm, and dashed out of the Office. She carefully re-locked everything, and tiptoed back to the tradehouse, stopping by Fargoth’s house and returning the ring.

 

The Bosmer was ecstatic, and followed her to the tradehouse, where he gave his approval to the merchant, letting her bargain the stuff she had stolen. She traded most of the trinkets and the dagger for a steel sword – which Nerevar approved of – and traded the silver for a sturdier lock pick – which Nerevar did not approve of. In his _humble_ opinion, potions would be a better choice, since she had done the right thing and returned the ring of healing.

 

Still, all was not lost. The way she held the sword, testing her balance and swinging it almost leisurely spoke of a familiarity with the weapon akin to a master swordsman, which assured him greatly. He loved his Resdaynia, but he knew the dangers it posed to an outlander, and he didn’t want Urania to be mauled by the first creature she came across.

 

When they concluded their business, Urania went to the room she shared with Jiub, who had chosen to stay behind and fret. She reassured him, stored her new things, and layed on the bed, exhausted from both the journey and the heist.

 

Jiub sat on a nearby chair, staring at the packed plaque, and Nerevar settled by the bed, watching over the two Dunmer, and pondering on the day’s happenings.

 

“It’s not a Command spell,” Urania muttered against the pillow, some time afterwards, “it’s a ghost.”

 

“What?,” asked Jiub, dumbstruck.

 

“Ghost,” she repeated, “freaking ghost whispering about good behavior and looking out for me.” She paused and turned towards Nerevar. She had had her eyes partially open, as if trying to fight her fatigue, or trying to see him. Maybe both. “D’you think it’s my ancestor?... I heard we Dunmer can call on them, but I was never able to. Always though there was something wrong with me, that I didn’t have a family who would protect me, not even in death. Kept being mocked for it by other Dunmer while growing up… but maybe they were here, waiting for me.”

 

Nerevar felt his throat tighten. He lowered himself until they were at eye level, dead blue eyes staring at living, sleepy, fiery red eyes, and promised,

 

_“I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”_

She fell asleep, a smile tugging at her lips. He didn’t move from his position, standing next to her while she rested.

_“Azura, please, let her be the one.”_

 


	6. Ride from Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a month, I know, but Exams... (And I still have seven exams to go)  
> Anyway, hope you guys are having fun, and Happy New Year!
> 
> PS: The letter is ipsis verbis like it is in the game, yeah, I'm that lazy

 

Riding a gigantic bug was proving to be an Experience. Originally, Urania had thought of doing the trip to Balmora by foot – it wasn’t _that_ far, a day or two walking down a paved road, and she’d get to have a feel of the land, maybe do some exploring…

 

And then a body had dropped from the _sky_. Urania hadn’t been sure if she was awake, or if she had somehow ventured into the Quagmire, but _no_ : Jiub had searched the body, and found an explanation – something called “Scrolls of Icarian Flight”. Some stupid mage who thought playing with scrolls was a fun and safe activity, resulting in the most absurd death she ever had the displeasure of witnessing. Honestly, what was wrong with mages? Or better yet, what was wrong with Morrowind?!

 

Usually, people behaving like idiots wasn’t enough to deter the young Dunmer from her own reckless doings. Still, never had this sort of shit happened in Cyrodill, so when Jiub had suggested the silt strider, looking unimpressed at the dead mage, Urania had readily agreed.

 

She had taken the scrolls with her, though, just in case. You never know, right?

 

When they had arrived at the platform, the conductor had greeted them with the best line anyone had said so far: “Why walk when you can ride?”. It had been so funny, any uneasy feeling Urania had towards the giant bug disappeared.

 

Still, it was such a weird concept, Urania could not stop grinning and pestering Jiub about it. “It’s a giant, graceful flea, faster and more comfortable than a horse, which howls louder than a timber wolf, and loves its conductor, seriously, is Morrowind even _real_.”

Jiub would occasionally make a comment, trying to hide his laughter at her comments, and answering all of her questions about the rest of the fauna and flora they could see, as well as what cities there were in the island, and what kind of armor was that one Dunmer wearing…

 

“Bug skin?,” she had asked.

 

“Chitin,” Jiub had answered, laughing loudly, “and you’re not wrong.”

 

All in all, they were having a generally pleasant trip.

 

At least, it was a pleasant trip until loud shrieks filled their ears.

 

Flying way up above them was a band of- something, which Jiub hadn’t told her about (yet).

 

“Fucking cliff racers!”, yelled the conductor, “We can outrun them, but I have to keep my hands on the silt strider! Can one of you get the crossbow on the back and shoot at them?! Maybe that will drive them away faster!”

Urania cursed at the Divines for the situation, complaining that she couldn’t shoot with a crossbow. “We don’t have those in Cyrodill!” she whined. She felt completely lost – she didn’t know what those things were, didn’t know how to shoot the crossbow, didn’t know what to do to make situation manageable, and it was _freaking her out!_  

 

When she turned to Jiub, however, he seemed perfectly cool. “I’ll handle them. You keep going,” he said to the conductor. “Urania, shut your mouth and grab hold of something. I’ve got this.” And with that, he picked up the crossbow, loaded it, aimed and shot at the nearest cliff racer.

 

Dead on. The thing didn’t even shriek again, just plummeted towards the ground.

 

“Headshot,” mumbled Urania, completely disbelieving, “ _fucking headshot_ …”

 

“Keep going, _serjo_ , keep going!”, laughed the conductor.

 

Jiub said nothing, just reloaded the crossbow and shot again.

 

It was a thing of beauty. Every time Jiub shot the crossbow, one bird-from-Hell went down, some shot in the head, others in the center of their bellies. Urania kept staring at Jiub, and his lack of one eye, and thinking about the _sheer amount of training_ he must have undergone after the loss of one eye to still be freakishly good at it. _Fuck!_ Just adjusting your perception to it, _sweet Azura, the mer was amazing!_

 

Urania found herself giggling, holding the shell of the silt strider with both hands so as to not fall out of it, and feeling completely happy. Sure, she was far from her home, but it was worth it! This Dunmer, _this Jiub,_ so calm in the face of those thingy-racers, perfectly collected as he loaded a crossbow, this was a Dunmer that she didn’t know lived inside the shell of a mer she had saved from death, _and he was worth every single minute she spent on this province!_ And that? That was the start of a great story to tell her guild mates and other friends when she made her way back home to Cyrodill.

 

The final cliff racer fell from the sky, this one still shrinking, right until the moment it crashed against the ground. The conductor calmed the silt strider, and the giant flee stopped, the shell where they traveled going softly up and down with the creature’s heavy breathing.

 

“Wow,” Urania said, breaking the silence, “Jiub, my friend, when you said riding the silt strider was going to be a great experience, I did not expect this much excitement!” She got up from her position, and gave her companion a few pats in his shoulder. “A little warning next time, pal.”

 

Jiub looked at her and laughed. “Lesson number whatever, Cat: you don’t fuck with Vvardenfell; Vvardenfell fucks with you.”

 

The three of them laughed, everyone high on adrenaline. After a few minutes, the conductor said he would give some water to the silt strider (“Her name is Pearl, and she is a very good girl!”), and Urania and Jiub sat down, side by side, checking to see if nothing of theirs had fallen off during the dash. Urania opened her pack and took stock of her things: the suicidal scrolls, the lockpick, the cloth-covered plaque, the money pouch, and the mysterious package and letter, which she hadn’t opened yet.

 

Feeing finally curious enough, she opened the letter and read.

 

And wished she could burn the thing down, find a hole and hide. Or maybe find an Imperial Fort and burn it to the ground. Whichever came first, really, she wouldn’t be picky.

 

“ Yo u have been given these directions and a package of documents. Do not show them to anyone. Do not attempt to read the documents in the package. The package has been sealed, and your tampering will be discovered and punished.

Follow these directions.

Proceed to the town of Balmora in Vvardenfell District. Report to a man named Caius Cosades. He will be your superior and patron; you will follow his orders. His residence is not known, but ask at the cornerclub called "South Wall". People there will know where to find Caius Cosades. When you report to Caius Cosades, deliver the package of documents to him, and wait for further orders.

Remember. You owe your life and freedom to the Emperor. Serve him well, and you will be rewarded. Betray him, and you will suffer the fate of all traitors.

I have the Honor to prepare this at the direction of his Most Sovereign Majesty the Emperor Uriel Septim,

Glabrio Bellienus

Personal Secretary to the Emperor”

_“Fuck the fucking Emperor!”_

“Are you alright?”, asked Jiub, startled.

 

Urania stared at him, realizing she had cursed out loud. Fuming, she crushed the letter into a ball and threw it to the other side of the strider’s shell. She crossed her arms and stared at the package she had been given, wishing she could burn it to the ground.

 

She took a few minutes to calm herself, breathing through her nose, forehead against her raised knees. Jiub sat beside her and placed a hand on her back, rubbing circles and asking calmly what had happened.

 

When the conductor returned aboard, Urania had regained some sort of calm, and pretended to only be affected by the recent chase. The conductor offered her some water, which she politely declined (it was the silt strider’s water, for Azura’s sake!), and reclined in the pillows that were scattered across the shell. When the silt strider howled and restarted their journey, she turned to Jiub and asked, softly so they wouldn’t be overheard.

 

“You remember the Imperial Simulacrum?”

 

He looked at her with his eyebrows creased, and said “The days of the Arena? Yeah, I remember it. It’s… it’s when my problem began, actually… You know, the ah…” he stopped talking and looked over his shoulder, to see if the conductor was listening. Urania waved a hand, understanding what he meant. The skooma.

 

“Everyone I ask who lived through it has always something shitty to say about it. Don’t worry, it’s not what I’m getting it at.” She rubbed her palms against her face, and got up, sitting next to him so they could whisper. “I was born two years before it began, lived my childhood right through it.” She sighted, and stared at him sternly. “What I’m about to tell you isn’t to be repeated, alright? I’m serious, if you want to know why I’m pissed, I want your word you won’t be going around scattering my story to the wind.”

 

“I swear on my life with the Good Daedra as witnesses,” he vowed.

 

She eyed him for a few moments, and then turned towards the passing landscape.

 

“You know I don’t have a family name, right? It’s what happens when unwanted children are left at orphanages in Cyrodill. Anyway, my parents might have been from somewhere else, but I was left at the chapel in Chorrol, and the priests gave me to the priory nearby. It happens when the orphanages are full, or when they know that a particular child ain’t gonna be wanted by humans, like a Dunmer kid. The thing is…” she stopped and eyed him sideways. Jiub gave a little nod, and she continued “the priory they gave me to was dedicated to Talos. Now, this isn’t anything out of the ordinary, and it doesn’t happen with every priory or priest dedicated to that particular Divine, but if you find yourself strolling through town, and you see a little chapel with a beautiful stained glass window with Talos in it, chances are the priests are former Blades.”

 

Jiub had his eyes very open, but wasn’t saying anything, so Urania pressed on. “What I’m trying to say is, I was raised and trained by the Blades.” Her shoulders slumped, and she turned her face towards the landscape again. “Anyway, we had a… strife, I guess you could say that. I left the Blades, punched some of them on my way out the door, told them to go fuck themselves and all, it was a grand exit, I tell you and now _this-_ “ she gets up and fetches the paper ball she had thrown across the silt strider, unfolded it, and showed it to him. “ _This is Blades’ business, I know it is!”_

Urania was _pissed_. She was not on good terms with the spy order, never had been since she had stormed out of the training temple in Chorrol so many years ago – _has it really been twenty years?_ , it felt like a _lifetime_ – and Urania had sworn she would not fall into their bloody hands again. No matter how many times her fellow trainees had tracked her down, or how many times they pretended to be concerned about _the Dark Elf girl.._.

 

“If they think I’ll do whatever it is they want, they are very mistaken! In fact, if _they fucking try_ , I’m gonna find a way to frustrate their shit all the way ‘till the end!”

 


End file.
